


Even the Devil Deserves Some TLC

by fireopal77



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Romance, Season 3 Finale, Wing Grooming, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireopal77/pseuds/fireopal77
Summary: A very Deckerstar take on what happens after Chloe sees Lucifer's Devil Face.





	Even the Devil Deserves Some TLC

The night is still, but Chloe Decker’s mind isn’t. She’s restless and exhausted, too tired to even think about food, and she doesn’t want a drink. Right now, all she wants is peace and quiet. Sleep would be even better, but that’s apparently too much to ask. After the mind-blowing, earth-shattering day she’s had, it’s the kind of night when she wishes her brain came with a clearly marked “off” switch so she could just shut it down and say a firm “Goodnight!” to her racing thoughts. Instead, she’s lying in a warm nest of black silk sheets and mounds of pillows with the Devil quite literally on her shoulder. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the most bizarre painting she’s ever seen in her life: a clown-faced mermaid with a mane of flowing orange hair reclining on the seabed, starfish cover her bare breasts, and she’s holding a seahorse in one hand, while beside her green tail a cartoonish crab offers her a red heart, presumably as an expression of love. It has a tacky greeting card vibe that makes it stick out like a sore thumb amidst the opulence and grandeur of sleek caramel-colored leather upholstery, diaphanous black draperies, Italian marble, antique Assyrian stone walls, Art Nouveau stained glass panels, and, of course, the enormous, elegant black bed. Maybe it has some quirky sentimental value or it’s just Lucifer’s idea of an anti-theft device? After all, no thief would ever think of touching that painting, so, one could argue, it makes more sense to hang it over the safe than say a Caravaggio for instance.

 

The underwire of her bra digs sharply into her skin, jabbing through a fraying seam in a painful reminder that she’s put off the self-indulgent experience of shopping for new underwear longer than she should. But as a single mother and a police detective there’s always so much on her plate, so much to do and seemingly not enough hours to do it all in, the list constantly reshuffles, priorities rising and falling as the events of the day unfold, it’s a never-ending juggling act. Then there’s the recent sci-fi soap opera her love life has been, but her mind really is trying not to go there. Just the merest summary—angst-filled love triangle between The Devil, mortal woman, and history’s first murderer, ending in divine feather-filled shootout and startling revelations—sounds like the plot of one of her mother’s worst movies.

 

Lucifer is lying half atop her, his dark head nestling in the crook of her neck, an arm and a leg draped across her, penis prodding her hip through his black silk boxer shorts. Carefully lifting one hand from his warm, naked back, she eases it underneath her bullet-pierced blouse and tries to shift the wire into a more tolerable position, but it seems determined to either stab or pinch. As she fusses with it, Chloe’s thoughts drift longingly to the closet full of soft, tailored shirts. She can almost hear them calling her name, tempting her to get up and slip out of her clothes and into something much more comfortable, but just this slight movement is enough to make Lucifer stir and murmur her name. His hand fumbles under the hem, bunching the fabric up around her waist, but it’s okay, she instinctively understands that he’s just seeking the comforting warmth of her skin, and after he finds it, he’s still again.

 

She savors the warmth of his weight upon her, the embrace that feels both protective and possessive in the best possible way, and the frisson of desire she feels swimming through her body like a school of hot, fast little fish. She shuts her eyes and breathes in his unique scent of expensive cologne, fine whiskey, tobacco and spice, it’s a sultry, sexy, masculine fragrance, mingling tonight with something like fever sweat since the need to escape pain in slumber won out over the fastidious desire to shower. Her hand resumes the soft, gentle stroking motion up and down his spine, soothing Lucifer back into the restful, healing sleep he so desperately needs.

 

She knows from Dr. Linda that he’s taken enough sedatives and pain pills to knock out a bull elephant, all washed down with vodka, but that “pesky supernatural metabolism” never surrenders to the numbing effects of narcotics and alcohol for long.  It’s kind of like that horrible grinning clown punching bag Dan gave Trixie for her last birthday, the one they keep hidden in the closet by mutual agreement, face turned to the wall, knock it down and it springs right back up again. It even has a sound-box inside so it gives the most god-awful deranged giggle every time. Chloe’s been tempted to shoot the damn thing more times than she likes to admit even to herself, but she doesn’t want to hurt Dan’s feelings. Trixie would probably tell him, and he might go out and buy her another one. She catches herself just in time to suppress the shudder of horror that idea provokes. Lucifer is very sensitive right now, alert to anything that might be perceived as the slightest sign of rejection or revulsion, reassurance is the drug he really needs, and even if she can’t sleep she’s way too tired to even attempt to explain that she’s shuddering at the thought of the grotesque vinyl clown hiding in her daughter’s closet and not at the memory of his Devil Face. Besides, he might tell Dan. In her mind’s eye, she can already see her ex-husband’s hurt puppy dog frown.

 

Dan had wanted a whole houseful of kids, the more the merrier he’d always said. Just the memory of all the arguments they’d had about it is enough to make Chloe cringe. She’d been sick with severe nausea, vomiting, dehydration, and a persistent feeling of faintness, and on strict bed-rest, throughout her entire pregnancy. She’d looked so walking dead awful her mother had joked about taking her to audition for zombie movies. Then, three days before she was scheduled to go into the hospital for a C-Section, she went into labor in her mother’s kitchen. Trixie was born just as the ambulance was turning into the hospital drive. It was a perilous hour where life and death almost collided. Being a cop is a dangerous job, one expects to rub shoulders with death at least occasionally, but in this day and age death in childbirth seems an outmoded threat, like something out of a Dickens novel. Even though she fell in love in that unique way that only a mother and child can the moment she saw Trixie, time hasn’t dulled Chloe’s memory a bit, she still vividly recalls every hellish moment of her pregnancy. She’d wanted to have her tubes tied, but Dan wouldn’t hear of it. After what seemed like 10,000 arguments, they’d finally compromised on an IUD, but by the time they began arguing about its removal, the foundation of their marriage was already crumbling. In the end, the IUD stayed, and Dan left.

 

Somehow she and Pierce had never gotten around to discussing such a serious subject as children. In hindsight, it’s surprising how many important things they had never talked about. Maybe it was because her subconscious mind, and her heart, always knew they were never going to make it to the altar. Since Lucifer had come into her life, Chloe often felt like she’d acquired a second child—a petulant, self-centered, filter-less, wildly impulsive, annoying, naughty, yet oddly perceptive, endearing and sometimes very sweet child trapped in a body that was disturbingly all full-grown male infused with a soul where innocence slept side-by-side with sex. It was enough, and on most days, more than enough. And even when she felt like she was at her wit’s end, Chloe still had to admit that she really was happy with just Trixie and that maddeningly exasperating man-child.

 

Lucifer shifts against her, his long, slender fingers glide over her hip as though he’s playing piano in his dreams, and she nestles her cheek against his hair and soothes him with her hands. She’s careful to keep her touch light in case his hidden-away wings are still healing. Although the skin of his back is smooth now, she remembers all too well how sensitive he was about the scars that used to be there; now she wonders if they pained him like the phantom limb syndrome human amputees suffer before his wings grew back. 

 

Chloe had never believed in God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell, or angels and demons, she’d thought it was all mythology and morality tales, but people who did always said The Supreme Being was a loving and forgiving father to all his children. Based on the evidence before her, cradled in her arms in fact, Chloe cannot agree. The truth is there, written in the way Lucifer hesitates and hold backs, confused, uncertain and almost shy, from hugs and other signs of sincere affection. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing truck whenever her daughter tries to hug him. It’s only the meaningless touches, like air kisses at a charity gala, or the requisite contact involved in working a room, acts of common courtesy and the social niceties, that don’t get under his skin. When it comes to meaningful, he struggles mightily, freezes frequently, and rarely initiates. He’ll gladly, almost thoughtlessly, take her hand to help her up some steep stairs, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, but a touch of the hand over a candlelit dinner takes titanic effort, the fear of being rebuffed is so great, though he’d never admit it. It reminds Chloe of all the hurt, neglected, and rejected children who break her heart every time they appear in police investigations or on the evening news; the ones who have learned, from too many times when affection suddenly turned into rejection, to fear what they in truth most deeply yearn for.

 

But sex is different, as Lucifer’s endless parade of partners proves; sex is a mindless pleasure, an animalistic urge that can be enjoyed without emotion, like a sport or a game. Desire is a drug that imbues the user with a false semblance of control, power, and pride; it’s the wolf named Lust hiding under the sheep’s clothing of Love. Such hollow intimacies are easy, because they mean nothing. They’re both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because they don’t have the power to hurt, and a curse because they cannot heal. That’s the sad irony of sex, you can bare every intimate inch of your anatomy to another person, and yet, even though it feels good, slakes a need, or scratches an itch, without love, it ultimately means nothing, and can even leave you feeling sadder and lonelier than you did before. Chloe doubts the poor Devil sleeping in her arms even knows that there’s a difference between having sex and making love, he probably thinks the latter is just a euphemism.

 

Everything happened so fast today. It’s all rushing back like a tidal wave about to knock her down and pull her under. There’s no avoiding it, so Chloe just gives in and goes with it. She’s too tired to resist, and maybe if she stops fighting it, she’ll finally be able to sleep.

 

The memories come like gunshots, quick and merciless: The brute force of the bullet burrowing into the Kevlar vest, the pain knocking her out, like an explosion of fireworks in her chest, sending her stumbling, falling backwards, against Lucifer’s chest.

 

As if from far away, she heard Pierce ruthlessly say “Finish it!” followed swiftly by the relentless salvo of bullets. But they couldn’t touch her. It made absolutely no sense! Never in her life had Chloe Decker felt so safe, it was as though she was surrounded by a powerful shield of warmth and love that was somehow both featherbed soft and strong as steel. She couldn’t move or open her eyes, it was almost like she was paralyzed, but never once was she afraid. Surely it must have been a dream! Yet how could a dream repel bullets? And then, though the comfort and warmth, that feeling of perfect safety, remained, an ugly nightmare had come and intruded upon that beautiful dream. Those screams…screams of pure agony, the likes of which she had never heard before and hoped never to hear again, screams that told her someone was being tortured. Screams that clawed at her heart like a frightened animal because someone was suffering and she was, in her surreal, dim state of awareness, powerless to help them.

 

There was a dizzying rush, a sensation of rapid ascent, and she must have completely lost consciousness. When she opened her eyes again she was safe on a rooftop, far away from harm, cradled in Lucifer’s arms. The light was behind him, so bright and white, that for a moment she thought she imagined pure white wings tucked behind his shoulders. But commonsense said it was only a trick of the light, the sun and clouds combining forces to fool her bleary eyes. His hand was at her breast, tentatively touching the bullet hole in her blouse, as though he was afraid of what lay beneath despite the conspicuous absence of blood. She reached up, over his hand, and pulled the neckline down to show him the bullet embedded in the vest.  

 

“What happened?” she asked groggily.

 

“You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” he said, his voice, his eyes, the expression on his face, so tender, naked and vulnerable. There was love there, revealed in all its truth and fullness, and yet such sadness too, she couldn’t understand why or what was hurting him. She should have asked. She should have taken the time. But the detective in her, determined to do her duty and override anything that might be perceived as female weakness, reappeared, forceful and assertive, sending Chloe’s mind straight into compartmentalizing mode. First things first, she had a job to do, everything else could wait, and she wasn’t about to let that manipulative bastard get away.

 

“We have to find Pierce,” she said.

 

She looked away, just for a moment, to try to clear her head and the fog from her eyes. She heard a powerful rustling behind her, and when she turned around again Lucifer was gone. It was impossible! Her eyes vainly searched the rooftop for some sign of him. How could he have disappeared so quickly? It didn’t make sense!

 

She was on the phone with Dan when the staccato of machine gun fire caused icy fingers of fear to grip her heart and almost claw it raw and beating right out of her breast. “I have to go….” She ended the call, cutting Dan off in mid-sentence. She needed to find Lucifer, to know that he was safe, suddenly that was all that mattered.

 

Pierce was dead, lying on the marble floor amidst a snowstorm of blood-spattered white feathers. Even as she wondered where they had come from, she knew the truth was right in front of her and had been there all the time. Lucifer towered over him, but not the Lucifer she saw every day. His skin looked like it had been flayed away; it was rough and red, scorched and scarred, leathery and melted like a burn victim’s. His scalp was bare and blistered, ropey with exposed veins and tendons. Even the irises of his eyes were red, like burning rings of fire.

 

Her mind leapt back to that night in the warehouse when she thought she had seen the reflection of Lucifer’s dark eyes flash fiery red just for a second. That was the night she shot him. Afterwards, she immediately started compartmentalizing. She was good at that; she’d been doing it since she was a child being prettied up and paraded around at auditions, when she would have much rather have stayed home in the safe haven of her room with a stack of books to find comfort and escape in. Compartmentalizing, it was her mind’s way of protecting her, of keeping her from becoming overwhelmed or breaking down. After that flash of fire-red, there had been other more urgent things to deal with: Lucifer was wounded, there was a case to wrap up, paperwork to be done, ends to tie up. She had almost managed to convince herself that it was only the reflection of some unknown lights, like an alarm, or a piece of machinery that had flickered once and then died. There had to be some logical explanation, and she would find it, if she only bothered to look hard enough. Instead, she had just let it go. Maybe she didn’t really want to know.

 

But now she knew…He had never lied to her. She was the one who had been deluding herself with all her talk about metaphors and assumed personas. Her partner, her Lucifer, really was the Devil incarnate. Heaven and Hell, God and Satan, angels and demons, were all very real indeed. She felt her stomach plunge in panic and the earth seemed to shift beneath her feet. Her heart was racing, pounding relentlessly in her chest, too hard and too fast. A haze of stars appeared, slowly encroaching upon her vision, until she felt like she was standing in a tunnel, looking out and waiting for the inevitable moment when everything went black. There was a rushing in her ears like an oncoming train hurtling towards her. Her body was ice and heat at the same time, and she felt so lightheaded and weak.

 

“It’s all true,” she said, her voice a soft, tremulous whisper that seemed to come from far away, “it’s all true.” Her feet began to move, out of pure instinct. She wanted to run, and after a couple of hesitant, backward shuffling steps, she did. The moment she saw that raw, naked pain in that ravaged red face, and those eyes wherein fear nearly doused the flames, Chloe Decker ran straight to the Devil.

 

He tried to pull away, wincing and gasping as though her touch was actually painful to him. Tears seemed to catch in his throat. He squirmed and struggled against her, but she stubbornly dug her nails into his back, determined to hold on. She was so afraid he would run away and she would never see him again. That he would never know…

 

“No! Lucifer, be still! This time I am not letting you run away from me!”

 

She stumbled against something and Lucifer instinctively caught and steadied her. She glanced down at Pierce, he was the only monster here, and he was dead, and she hoped burning in Hell as he so richly deserved. She wanted to kick his head in, but he wasn’t worth the effort. He had lied, used and manipulated her, pretended to love her, and to be everything she thought she wanted and needed, but in the end he’d been willing to kill her and leave the daughter he knew was everything to her without a mother. “Finish it!” he had ordered his henchmen. Every time she thought of him, which she hoped would be increasingly less the more time passed, Chloe would hear those words ringing with harsh, brutal finality in her ears: “Finish it!”

 

There were sirens in the distance. She saw panic flash across Lucifer’s face, the fear fueling the instinctive need to take flight, to run away and hide from all the confusion and pain. He tried to twist free again. There were tears, glimmering like drops of blood, against the tormented red flesh.

 

“Detective, please…” she could read the words unsaid in his desperate eyes: _don’t hurt me!_

 

“Lucifer! Look at me!”

 

But he couldn’t, he tried but quickly averted his eyes and flinched as though he was expecting a blow.

 

“I don’t need your pity, Detective!”

 

“No, you don’t,” Chloe agreed. “What you really need is to be loved.” The words came out so straightforward, so matter-of-fact, they even surprised her. Despite all the staggering biblical revelations that were staring her in the face, making her feel punch-drunk and overwhelmed, in Chloe’s mind and heart it all boiled down to that, the truth really was that pure and simple.

 

Gently but firmly, she grasped his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her, to meet her eyes. “Please, look at me, Lucifer, you were the one who was afraid I would run away, but I’m not running, I’m standing right here! I’ve seen all of you now, everything you were so afraid to show me, and I’m still here, and I’m not afraid. I told you before, and I’ll keep telling you, as often and as many times as you need me to until it finally sinks in through that thick, stubborn skull of yours,” she butted her forehead against his. “Okay, yes, you are the Devil, you’ve been telling me so from day one, and I believe you now, but I still say not to me,” she caressed his hot, ravaged face with tender fingers and his anguished soul with her soft, honest words, “not to me.”

 

Quickly and decisively, before he had a chance to argue, she drew his mouth down to hers. Beneath her hands, she felt a subtle shifting: the inflamed red skin began to cool and grow smooth again as it faded to a healthy tan; the tickling prickle of black stubble on his cheeks and chin teasing her fingertips; and the shy but yearning softness of his lips against her own. When she looked into his eyes again they were the same dear dark chocolate ones she saw every day, penetrating yet melting. His hands trembled against the small of her back. Even his breath shook as he held her. They leaned into each other, resting brow to brow, and she cupped the back of his head, stroking his dark hair and the nape of his neck. Calming, gentling him, smiling softly at the sad, sweet irony that The Devil was more scared of her than she was of him.

 

“You are not a monster, Lucifer, you are not evil, and you will never convince me that you are, so you might as well stop saying it, and stop thinking it. I’ll contradict you every time. And you know I can be just as stubborn as you are, so you might as well just stop.”

 

“Chloe…” he whispered her name, like a prayer, so full of hope, love, wonder and reverence, and she guided his lips back down to hers again.

 

The sirens were getting closer. Lucifer pulled away from her and his eyes quickly assessed the scene—bloodstained angel feathers everywhere, and the demon dagger in Pierce’s chest. There wasn’t time… Time! He brought his hands together in an attitude of urgent prayer and shut his eyes.

 

Surely she had only just blinked, only a moment had passed, it couldn’t be more than that. Chloe was still standing right where she had been, only now there wasn’t a feather in sight.

 

“Demon dagger forged in Hell,” Lucifer explained as he tucked it inside his jacket, “I realize its absence is going to raise awkward questions, and for that I apologize, but…proof of divinity and all that...not for the LAPD databases.”

 

Chloe nodded absently, distracted by the lone crimson-speckled white feather stuck to the sole of her boot. She barely had a chance to look at it before Lucifer snatched it away and thrust it deep into his pocket.

 

“All those feathers, covered in blood…” She remembered the way he had struggled against her and tried to pull free, almost like…like an animal caught in a trap. Chloe felt sick suddenly remembering the way she had dug her nails into his back. “Was it…your blood?” Screams of agony echoed in her ears, like a tortured soul coming back to haunt her. “Lucifer, you’re hurt! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Only my wings, Detective,” he said as though his injuries were as superficial as a paper-cut.

 

“Show me! Lucifer! Now!”

 

“Oh, very well!” With a heavy sigh and an anguished twist of his shoulders that clearly hurt more than he wanted to admit, his wounded wings unfurled before her, glowing with the luster of bloodstained pearls, undeniably magnificent despite all the missing and mangled feathers.

 

The enormity of it all hit her then, and only sheer will kept Chloe’s knees from buckling, that and the knowledge that Lucifer would most likely misunderstand and think it was revulsion or fear that made her crumble.

 

As though he could not bear for her to look at them a moment longer, Lucifer hid his wings away again. A painful grimace, and a fresh sheen of tears and sweat, marked his efforts and made Chloe’s heart ache all the more. She understood now. It hadn’t been a dream at all. He had used his wings to save her, to shield her from the barrage of bullets that would surely have ended her life. That alone, if she’d even needed convincing, would have been enough to prove that the truth had been distorted and lost, obscured over the passage of centuries, shaped by humanity’s guilt and deepest fears into something false. The Devil was not evil, he merely punished the evil-doers, and for that he had been unjustly vilified, feared, and despised. Cast out of Heaven, banished to Hell, he had been tortured by the pain and rejection, until his tormented mind had come to truly believe that he really was evil, a monster undeserving of kindness and love.

 

It made Chloe wonder, if Hell is hot, is Heaven cold? God must be like a great big invincible iceberg. He had cast this once beloved child, the one he had called Lightbringer and Morningstar, away from his family and the only home he had ever known, and into darkness so deep and vast that Lucifer had forgotten what it felt like to be loved. Granted, she didn’t know the full details, and Lucifer could be a real pain in the ass and was a handful even at the best of times, but kids rebelled against the rules and parental authority, it was part of growing up, of asserting their independence, they all did it, even the best-behaved ones; it was practically a rite of passage. Countless centuries had passed since Lucifer’s fall, plenty of time for any anger to cool and hard feelings to soften. Yet God, this supposedly merciful and forgiving father, had left his son, this proud, sensitive creature, a child of mischief, music, and light, in the darkest place of all, Hell, a place of torture and torment devoid of tenderness, where screams, despair and discord were the only music, to sit upon a throne as a dark prince surrounded by the damned, attended by demons, until the soul inside was as badly flayed and scarred as the Devil’s own skin. Holding back her tears was one of the hardest things Chloe had ever had to do. The Devil truly was Eternity’s most lost and lonely child.

 

“Come on,” she took Lucifer’s hand, “we have to get out of here.”

 

In the car, her first call was to Dr. Linda, she was the only person with medical training Chloe knew who could be trusted under the circumstances. She gave her a quick rundown of the situation and asked her to get whatever she needed to tend Lucifer’s wounds and meet them at Lux. Next, she called Dan and said she was taking Lucifer for medical treatment, his back had been injured by shrapnel, and she would return to the scene as soon as possible. She hung up before he could ask anymore questions.

 

Beside her, Lucifer was uncharacteristically silent, that alone told her how much he was suffering, but when she laid her hand on his thigh, after a moment of uncertainty and a sideways glance, almost as if he was asking permission, he put his hand over hers, and, after another quick glance, allowed his fingers to entwine with hers.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve revealed yourself to a veterinarian since you’ve been in LA? ‘Cause I was thinking, for the wings, a vet really might be the best option….” Chloe ventured, darting a worried look at Lucifer lest he take offense; the wings were clearly a sensitive subject, and lumping the Lord of Hell into the same company as livestock and pets might be deemed insulting.

 

“That depends on what you mean by revealed, Detective,” he said with a suggestive smile and an arch of his brows, the familiar, playful Lucifer shining through the pain. Chloe was so happy to see this side of him again that she almost slammed on the brakes and kissed him.

 

“You know exactly what I mean!” she exhaled sharply and pulled her hand away to brush an annoying wisp of hair out of her face.

 

“Right, no, ‘fraid not, no vets, avian or otherwise, not that I need one, I’m the Devil, not a bloody parrot, you know. Besides, angel wings, bird wings, there’s really no comparison, beyond the obvious. Really, Detective, I don’t know what you’re so worried about, they’ll either get well or I’ll cut them off again, or get Maze to, or maybe Dr. Linda can be persuaded once she sees what a bloody mess they are.”

 

“No, uh-uh, not happening!” Chloe gave him a stern look as she slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid running a red light. “No! Lucifer, you are not cutting them off again, even if I have to sit on your hands to stop you!”

 

“Mmmm…Detective, I’m starting to like where this is going…” There was that lascivious leer again and he licked his lips as he stared at her, like a cat ready to devour a bowl of cream.

 

“Bad choice of words, very bad!” Acutely aware that she was blushing, probably red enough to rival Lucifer’s Devil Face, Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes as she clenched the steering wheel. “Lucifer, if you say one more word, your wings are not going to be the only thing that hurts. I will seriously shoot you again; I don’t care if you are the Devil!”

 

He pantomimed drawing a zipper across his lips but his eyes were still laughing, and when, after a moment, she laid her hand on his thigh again, his fingers found hers and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

 

Just as they reached Lux, Dr. Linda came rushing up, clutching bags from a nearby drugstore.

 

“Dr. Linda will take good care of you, and I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Chloe promised, feeling just like she did when she had to send Trixie off to school after a particularly trying morning. “Be good, and remember, no running, or flying, away, and no talk of, or attempts at, amputation.” With Lucifer, Chloe found it was usually best to spell everything out.

 

“What, no kiss goodbye?” Lucifer pouted like a naughty child.

 

That stopped Chloe in her tracks. Was this just another one of his jokes or was the fear of abandonment hiding beneath?

 

“Lucifer, this isn’t goodbye, I’ll be back as soon as I can…”

 

Still…no matter how badly Trixie had behaved, Chloe would never part from her child without a hug and a kiss, and right now, no matter what he said, or how playful it sounded, Lucifer was likely to seize upon anything as a sign of rejection. Better to be safe than sorry, so she marched back around the car, seized him by his lapels, and pulled him down for a quick kiss. Before he could think of anything to say, she was back in the car again and Dr. Linda was taking his arm, gently urging him inside, nodding and smiling, humoring his indignant protests about being treated like a child or a big bird in need of a vet.

 

The rest of the day seemed to drag, every minute passing as though it were weighted in cement shoes, when all Chloe wanted to do was rush back to Lucifer. Every time she started to leave, something, or someone, called her back. There had even been a crisis with the babysitter, she’d called at the last minute, from the emergency room, sick with food poisoning. Dan would be working late, Maze was unreachable, and none of Trixie’s other regular sitters were available, but luckily Chloe’s mother was. Even though it would keep her away from Lucifer longer, Chloe stopped at a drugstore on the way to Trixie’s school and bought an overpriced Little Princess Makeup Kit with a whole rainbow of lip, eye, and nail colors, tiara and feather boa, then raced into the nearest grocery store for a triple fudge cake and chocolate ice cream, the perfect ingredients for a girls’ night/slumber party with Grandma. Trixie would be delighted, and it would distract Penelope Decker from asking too many questions, and keep them both occupied for the night; they would be too busy having fun to wonder where she was and what she was doing. In fact, melting ice cream provided the perfect diversion; the moment her mother and Trixie turned towards the kitchen, Chloe was out the door.

 

With one thing and another, it was almost dark by the time she made it back to the penthouse. As soon as the elevator doors opened she rushed in, threw her jacket on the bar, and peered anxiously around. Everything was silent and still, for a moment all she could hear was the beating of her own heart. She found a clearly exhausted Linda sitting on the sofa with her feet up, nursing a stiff drink. There were bloodied rags and feathers all over the coffee table, tweezers, bottles of peroxide and rubbing alcohol, bowls of red-tinged water, empty pill and liquor bottles, and a silver salad bowl filled with bullets and bits of broken glass the doctor had extracted from Lucifer’s wings. Tears ran down Chloe’s face, and her knees buckled, she could barely breathe, or maybe she was breathing too fast, she was so tired and upset she couldn’t tell which. Linda had to help her to the sofa and press her head down between her knees to calm her breathing.

 

“Where’s Lucifer?” she asked as soon as she was able. “How is he?”

 

“He’s going to be fine,” Linda assured her. “He’s resting; that’s what he needs most right now.”

 

She went on to explain that after numbing himself as best he could with copious amounts of vodka and pills, the second she finished tending his wings, Lucifer had snapped them out of sight and staggered to his bedroom, shedding his clothes along the way, and collapsed on the bed. Linda pointed to a bottle of baby shampoo sitting on the corner of the coffee table, innocent and apart from all the evidence of blood and carnage, she had bought it to clean his wings but decided that it was better to just let him sleep.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Chloe promised as she started to stand.

 

But Linda pulled her back down. “Do you want to talk? He’ll probably sleep for hours. Let me get you a drink, I can tell you need one.”

 

For a long time, Chloe sat numbly sipping her scotch, she really didn’t want to talk, but Linda kept looking at her expectantly and nodding encouragingly.

 

“What can I say?” she shrugged wearily. “He’s my partner, my best friend, he always has my back, I trust him like I’ve never trusted anyone else, he makes me laugh, even when he’s acting like a child or being a pain in the ass and I feel like shooting him, I still…love him. Even when my mind tells me we’re too different and starts making a list of all the reasons I shouldn’t, my heart still wants Lucifer. He’s both the reason I said ‘yes’ to Pierce, and the reason I said ‘no.’ I convinced myself that I should make the more sensible, reliable, sane, responsible, adult choice and marry Pierce. I thought he could give me everything Lucifer couldn’t, or wouldn’t. But my heart never cared about any of that, it kept tearing up my lists and shouting down the so-called Voice of Reason, it just wanted Lucifer. Oh and did I mention that he really is The Devil?”

 

“And how do you feel about that?” Dr. Linda asked, crossing her legs and adjusting her glasses.

 

Chloe took a deep breath and stared into her glass. “I never believed in any of that religious stuff, but now…now I’m confronted with proof, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. Should I start going to church, reading the Bible, praying, enroll Trixie in Sunday school? Or do I just go on like I always have? I’ve always believed in right and wrong, good and evil, and maybe that’s enough. It’s just the enormity of the thing, you know? But as for Lucifer…Lucifer and me…” Chloe shrugged and took another sip of scotch. “I don’t feel any different; except I think I understand him better now, why he is the way he is, and why he’s so angry and bitter about his Dad. But I’m not afraid of him if that’s what you’re asking me. And he was so afraid I would be! He’s been torturing himself about it for so long!”

 

“What about the Devil’s face?” Dr. Linda asked pointedly. “I know it really freaked me out when he showed me. It took me some time to come to terms with the situation, that what I always thought were metaphors were literal truths, before I could think straight and resume sessions with Lucifer. It just kept getting in the way; he would be sitting on my couch obsessing about what it meant when you made him a sandwich, and all I could think about was how he had punished Hitler. And I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Dr. Linda glanced guiltily down at her drink then set the glass on the coffee table and used her fingertips to slide it even further away.

 

“Seriously? He had a session with you about a sandwich, really? What does he think I am, _The Da Vinci Code_ , everything has a hidden meaning? Uh…whatever! Yeah, of course, I was surprised. I never believed Lucifer was the Devil any more than I would have believed him if he’d insisted he was the Easter Bunny. But no, I wasn’t afraid. Part of me wanted to run away at first, I felt like I couldn’t deal with it, it was just…too much, I needed time to think, to sit down and stop my head from spinning and try to make sense of it all, but then I saw the pain and fear in his eyes…And I knew if I left I would never see him again; he would run away and always think that I had run away from him. I knew he needed me to stay more than I needed to go. The face was something I could deal with once I got over the shock. I know that may sound surprising, even hard to believe, but you’ve got to remember, I was raised on horror and sci-fi movies, my mom starred in so many of them. I spent most of my childhood on movie sets. There are pictures of her dressed as The Vampire Queen nursing me between takes. I had all kinds of ghouls and zombies, Iguana Men from Mars, and Salamander Sluts from Venus, for my babysitters. There was even a _Phantom of the Opera_ rip-off, _Demon of the_ _Drive-In_ , my mom played a 1950’s carhop, and her secret admirer was a nerdy fry-cook who was disfigured when he slipped on a maraschino cherry and fell headfirst into the deep fryer, so he had the scarred and burned Freddy Krueger type makeup. That kind of stuff never scared me; I guess I just…got used to it. It may be an overly simple way of looking at it, but, to me, the Devil Face is like a uniform Lucifer wears when he’s doing a certain job, and it is his job to punish evil, but he isn’t evil himself; that’s an important distinction a lot of people don’t get, but I do. So many times he’s come between me and death…On our first case, he saved me when Jimmy Barnes shot me, and he’s carried me out of a burning building, and when I was poisoned…I’m still not sure what he did exactly, but he saved me…”

 

“He died and went to Hell to get the antidote from Professor Carlisle,” Linda volunteered. “He stopped his heart with a pair of defibrillator paddles. But it all turned out okay,” she added hastily at Chloe’s stricken expression, “I brought him back to life again, with the paddles, and he gave the doctor the formula and saved you.”

 

“So that’s what he meant when he said ‘You didn’t die, that makes one of us.’ You mean he actually died to save me?” When Linda nodded, Chloe raised her glass and drained it in one gulp. “And he didn’t tell me? Of course, he didn’t tell me. Why am I even surprised? No, don’t answer that! No offense, Linda, but I’m tired, and we need to start winding this conversation down. But there is something else that’s been bothering me…He told me a long time ago that a gunshot was like a flick of the fingers to him, that he only felt pressure, not actual pain. He said he didn’t bleed, but that was before I shot him. I saw the wound, the blood, with my own eyes. And once I thought I really did see him die, I was sure of it at the time, and you just told me he has died, and today he was hurt very badly…But there’ve been other times, times when he should have been hurt, but he wasn’t. The first time I met him, he survived a hailstorm of bullets and broken glass without a scratch on him.”

 

“Did you and Lucifer ever have a conversation about being vulnerable?” Linda asked, delicately treading the line between friendship and patient confidentiality, a line she had already crossed multiple times.

 

“Yeah…” Chloe nodded. “Wait a minute…I was talking about emotional vulnerability, do you mean Lucifer meant it literally, as in flesh and blood, life and death literally?” She stopped and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, remembering all the times when Lucifer should have been, but wasn’t, injured, he’d been exposed to flying bullets, shattering glass, and even poisonous gas, yet there had been other times when she’d seen him shot, burned, and even stabbed. “I think I get it…When he’s with me he can be hurt, but when he’s not he’s…”

 

“Invincible, immortal,” Linda confirmed.

 

The truth bent Chloe double again. “And he didn’t tell me…” she held up a hand to stop Linda from interrupting, “because he thought I would send him away, for his own safety. He didn’t understand…I never believed he was immortal, until today, so, for me, he was mortal all along, just like me, well…except for all the crazy. We were just like any other partners, facing danger together, looking out for each other. I’ll have to explain that to him; there’s so much we’re going to have to talk about…” she sighed and buried her face in her hands, feeling suddenly, unbearably tired. “But right now, I feel like I just want to sleep for a week!”

 

“That’s completely understandable,” Dr. Linda said, taking her cue and rising to go. “If you want to talk more, call me, I’m here for you.”

 

“Thanks, Linda, for everything,” Chloe said gratefully with a parting hug. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”

 

“You would have managed just fine,” Linda assured her. “You truly are a remarkable woman,” she added before the elevator doors closed, leaving Chloe alone in the penthouse with the slumbering Devil.

 

Chloe poured herself another drink then decided she didn’t really want it. She set it down on the coffee table, wearily eyeing the mess there like any exhausted mother, but too tired to do anything about it. She made her way across the floor, following the trail of Lucifer’s discarded clothes, and mounted the marble steps leading up to the regal black bed. She unclipped her badge and holster and laid them with her phone on the nightstand. She stood beside the bed, just watching Lucifer sleep, as she unbuckled her belt, pulling it through the loops of her grey jeans.

 

Clad only in a pair of black silk boxer shorts, Lucifer lay on his stomach, hugging the pillows tight. Even in his sleep, despite all the pills and vodka, he seemed very tense. Sweat had undone most of the morning’s styling, and his dark hair was a mess of damp curls. There was the sheen of sweat upon his back, and Chloe worried that he might be feverish. Could angel wings become infected? He had kicked off the bedspread, it was dangling off a corner of the bed, and the silken sheets were twisted and tangled down around his ankles.

 

Carefully, trying her best not to disturb him, Chloe sat down and removed her boots before easing herself onto the bed beside Lucifer. But he seemed to instantly sense her presence and rolled over to regard her with eyes that were both hopeful and wary, like someone who longs for a caress but fears, and half-expects, a slap instead.

 

“You came back,” his voice was soft and amazed. He actually seemed surprised to see her.

 

“Of course I did, I told you I would,” Chloe said as she bent to straighten the sheets and pull them back up. All her life, she had never been able to sleep uncovered. Dan had always laughed at her when she said she was hot and stripped down for bed and then proceeded to cocoon herself in the covers.

 

“You’ve been crying,” Lucifer frowned. He started to reach out to trace the tracks of her tears but hesitated and pulled back his hand as though he was afraid to touch her.

 

“I saw all the bullets and glass Dr. Linda pulled out of your wings and I couldn’t bear the thought of you in so much pain,” Chloe gently explained, reaching out to smooth down his wild hair and stroke his face. “How are you feeling now? How are your wings?”

 

“Well, it’s the first time they’ve ever been used for target practice, so I’ve nothing to compare it with, but, never fear, Detective, I’ll survive,” he smiled reassuringly. “They’re already on the mend. Lots of new itchy little feathers growing in to replace the ones I’ve lost; it really is the Devil’s own torment.”  

 

“Do you need me to leave so you can finish healing?” Chloe asked. “I’ve been talking to Dr. Linda, and I think I understand better now about the vulnerability thing.”

 

There was a sad, beseeching look in Lucifer’s eyes and he was once again the anxious, insecure child fearing rejection. “No, please…stay…unless, of course, you prefer to go…” he hastily amended, putting up walls of pride to hide behind again.

 

“Nope, I’m exactly where I want to be,” Chloe reached back and began arranging the pillows more to her liking.

 

“You mean…does that mean…” for once Lucifer was at a loss for words, but his eyes told her exactly what he meant to say.

 

“Okay,” Chloe sighed as she settled herself comfortably in Lucifer’s enormous bed, “short version because it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I admit, it’s a lot to wrap my head around, you know I was never a believer in all that Bible stuff, so I’ve got to come to terms with it all being real, and what that means, so we’re going to have a lot to talk about, but…” she shrugged, “it doesn’t really change anything about how I feel and what I want, I mean…you’re still my Lucifer.”

 

“Always!” his face lit up with the most radiant smile. But after a moment the smile wavered, and there was that confused, cautious, uncertainty again, and his eyes searched hers, seeking clues. “So…does that mean…if I’m…your Lucifer…does that mean that you’re…my…Chloe?”

 

“Come here…” she reached out and pulled him into her arms, snuggling with him the way she did most nights with Trixie. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it means.” She kissed his forehead.

 

Lucifer seemed both delighted and perplexed by this unexpected cuddling.

 

“Are we going to have sex now?”

 

His confusion was clear, and so adorable, and the question asked so innocently, that Chloe just couldn’t scold him. This wasn’t his typical Lucifer-ness.

 

“No,” she explained patiently, “you’re going back to sleep now, or else I’m getting up and going home. You’ve been through a lot today, and it’s rest you need, not...distraction.”

 

“But we’re in bed and you’re…holding me. I don’t understand! Women usually only want to do that after…”

 

“What, you don’t like it? Would you rather I didn’t?” Chloe asked, halting her hand in mid caress.

 

“I didn’t say that!” Lucifer protested and quickly laid his head back down on her shoulder and snuggled close to her. “Please…don’t stop,” he said in the same soft, vulnerable tone as he had once used to ask her not to touch his scars, only now he was pleading to be held, begging to be touched.

 

Chloe smiled and hugged him. “Even the Devil deserves some TLC.”

 

But this was simply too much for Lucifer. He bolted up and sat staring at her with the most wounded, horrified expression.

 

“Now, really, Detective! Yes, yes, it’s true, I am the Devil, but not even I deserve that! The by no stretch of the imagination fabulous lives of 600 pound people, the overzealous breeding habits of dimwits, morons marrying morons for the most superficial, frivolous reasons, and wedding gowns _ad nauseum_! I’m surprised there isn’t a second channel to show all the divorces! A snowball really would stand a better chance in Hell! _Married at First Sight_ , _Married by Mum and Dad_ , _90 Day Fiancé_ , and don’t even get me started on the gypsies! If I didn’t know better, I would think that whole network and all its programming was produced in Hell! The scope of the torment is…” he shuddered, “…terrifying!”

 

Chloe couldn’t help herself, she just had to laugh. She hadn’t laughed so hard in she couldn’t even remember how long, and it felt so good.

 

“Lucifer, no, I’m not talking about television, I meant tender loving care!”

 

“Oh, that sounds much nicer,” Lucifer sighed, clearly relieved. He smiled and settled back down, cuddling contentedly against her, “much, much nicer,” he sighed as he settled his head on her shoulder and draped an arm across her.

 

After a moment, as her hands resumed their gentle, caressing glide, she felt him relax fully against her, and Lucifer Morningstar gave himself up to the pleasure of just being held.

 

***

 

Chloe picks up her phone to check the time. It’s 10:19 p.m.  She’s been lying here for hours. Her restless mind has been roaming all over the place while she holds Lucifer and watches him sleep, but she hasn’t slept a moment herself. Not only is the wire of her bra biting her again, but Lucifer’s arm, as good as it feels, hugging her waist, is pressing on the metal button of her jeans, causing it to dig into her stomach. And, even worse, she really needs the bathroom. She really can’t ignore it any longer.

 

Gently, she slips out of his embrace, and sits for a moment, watching, to make sure he’s okay, before she pads softly into his luxurious bathroom.  It’s enormous, at least twice the size of the bathroom in her apartment, all black and gold Art Deco magnificence and bacchanalian stained glass depicting lusty satyrs cavorting with Grecian maidens, and the lecherous goat-man god Pan pursuing flocks of nymphs, all framed with gilded grapes and leaves. There’s an enormous shower, a decadent sunken bathtub fit for a Roman orgy, and a gold-trimmed toilet and matching bidet. The water spouts and faucets are golden gargoyles that match the drawer pulls on the black vanity. Behind the double sinks there’s a large mirror with lighting that any movie star would envy. The towels and washcloths are all large, plush, and black, folded neatly on gilded racks, and there’s an expensive and elegant array of toiletries displayed on gilt and mirrored shelves, some of the scent bottles look like antiques from the 1920s and ‘30s. Chloe recognizes the sleek, modernistic red and black hairdryer lying on the vanity; she’s seen the infomercials touting this $400 supersonic miracle and wondered who would be crazy enough to buy one. Seriously, $400 for a hairdryer? Well, now she knows.

 

After easing her bladder, and washing her hands and face, she tugs the elastic from her hair, shakes out her long golden-brown mane, and wiggles out of her tight jeans; luckily her top is long enough to cover her panties. She knows she’s never going to get any sleep with that wire stabbing her, so she tosses her bra on the black and gold checkered marble floor on her way out of the bathroom. She’s only been gone a few minutes, but Lucifer has missed her and is sitting up in bed, looking worried and miserable, like he’s teetering on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

 

“You’re here,” he sounds so relieved to see her, “I was afraid…I thought it was all a dream…I…I wasn’t sure what was real, if you had run away when you saw…and I had just dreamt that you hadn’t, or if…” He shakes his head hard as though he’s trying to clear it of all the bad dreams.

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Chloe crawls across the bed and wraps her arms around him, practically straddling his lap to get close enough to give him the comfort he needs. “I just had to go to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to wake you. I ran to you, not away from you, remember? I’m here with you, because I want to be here with you, and this is real, not a dream. Okay?”

 

Lucifer nods against her shoulder, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, his arms cling to her, and his skin feels hot and clammy beneath her caressing hands. “It’s just so hard to believe, it feels like a dream, not a nightmare, but a dream come true, now that you know, you’ve seen all of me, and yet…you still…want…me.”

 

“I do,” Chloe shifts her position and pulls him back down to lie beside her, snuggling face to face, holding each other close, “I really, really do,” she kisses him lightly. “You’re not the only one who’s insecure, you know?”

 

“Do you mean that you are? Insecure? But why? Is it because…”

 

“No, it has nothing to do with you being the Devil. This is something I would have worried about even if you were a mortal man, and I did, I have worried about it…a lot…I don’t know, maybe even too much…”

 

“Tell me,” Lucifer reaches out and gently brushes her long hair back from her face.

 

“We started to have this conversation before, about how different we are. I just can’t help worrying that…you’ll get bored…with me. I’m not a party girl, Lucifer, I’m not one of your Brittanys, I’m not a model or a porn star, and I gave up being an actress because that never really was me or who I wanted to be. I don’t look like those women, or live like them. Even in bed, they’re probably much more…accomplished, and experienced, than I am. So it’s hard for me to believe that you could be satisfied, and more than that, truly happy, with someone like me—a hardworking, stressed-out cop and single mother who would rather stay in most nights than go out.”

 

“Chloe…there is no comparison,” he seems genuinely bewildered by her concerns. “Those women, and the men too…there’s a reason they only lasted a night. They’re not…real. None of them ever cared about me; you’ve interviewed enough of them to know that’s true. And I, if the truth be known, cared as little for them as they did for me. They filled my time, and I filled their bodies, and sometimes they filled mine, but, even when I didn’t know it, and even when I did and couldn’t face it, told myself I had an image to maintain, and tried to ignore it by drowning myself in excess, the truth was always there. With them, it was always…empty. Meaningless, empty and…lonely, even in the midst of an orgy. I don’t want that anymore. I don’t feel empty when I’m with you, or lonely, you give me…meaning, a sense of…wholeness...fulfillment; something I never felt before. I don’t always understand it, but I like it. And you don’t need to look like, or be like, them; none of them can hold a candle to you anyway, you’re more beautiful than all of them put together. You’re special, and good, truly good, you’re kind, smart, brave, loyal, strong, passionate, and stubborn—and I mean that in a good way—and you’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met. As for their accomplishments, none of them left a lasting impression, so…you can’t really consider them competition; can you? Please, don’t give any of them another thought—I assure you, I haven’t. You’re everything I want, and not just for a night…”

 

“Speaking of time…” Chloe pulls away. She sits up and hugs her knees, suddenly feeling very insecure when faced with what seems an insurmountable barrier. “That’s the other thing…It’s a fact, and we have to face it—you’re immortal, and I’m not. I’m going to grow old, and you…you won’t. If this works out…when I’m, oh I don’t know…fifty? Maybe sooner than that, depending on how well I age? You won’t want me the way you do now. And even if you did…I can’t be one of those older women dragging around a much younger man, with everyone laughing at her behind her back, and wondering…”

 

“Do you want me to grow old with you?” Lucifer interrupts.

 

“Of course, I do, but…”

 

“Then I will,” he says as if it’s nothing at all.  “Gracefully, of course,” he adds with a saucy grin. “Personally, I think I’ll look quite dashing with silver streaks at my temples, and maybe a little silver here,” he runs a hand over the stubble on his face. “And perhaps, someday…spectacles?”

 

“What? Wait, I don’t understand. Can you? You would do that for me?” Chloe asks, astounded that Lucifer, the vainest man she’s ever known, would willingly give up his youthful appearance to be with her. It’s amazing what the Devil will do for love.

 

“Yes, of course I would,” he answers without the slightest hesitation. “And yes, I can, I do have some power over my form; it’s really all a glamour, I’ll explain in more detail later, when we start talking about all those other things, biblical and such. The important thing is…” he reaches out and draws her back into his arms, “I want you to be comfortable and happy, and you can’t be if you’re worrying about things like that, so I’ll make sure you never have to.”

 

“And what do you want?” Chloe asks as she snuggles closer, entwining her bare limbs with his.  Lucifer is just getting around to noticing that her legs are bare. He’s getting bolder, and now he wants to touch them. But before he gets too distracted, she tilts his chin back up to make him meet her eyes again. “What do you truly desire, Lucifer Morningstar?”

 

The words are spoken with soft and earnest care, as though he’s given them a great deal of thought. “To be with you, to be worthy of you, to be loved by you, to be your partner in every sense of the word, to be the man you choose to spend your life with. I want to be…” the rest of the words come more shyly, haltingly, accompanied by a  nervous shifting of his dark eyes, as though he’s afraid she might laugh at him, “…boyfriend material, maybe even someday…husband material? Seriously, I think I could be…If Dan can do it…”

 

“Stranger things have happened,” Chloe agrees, smiling as she pulls him close for another, this time a longer, and deeper, kiss.

 

Lucifer’s hand glides up her thigh and under her shirt to find the bare skin of her waist again. Suddenly he stops, glances down, and frowns.

 

“Darling, what is this hideous thing you’re wearing?” His fingers pluck disdainfully at the elastic waistband of her cotton candy pink polka-dotted white panties; the kind Maze calls her “granny panties.”

 

“They’re not that bad…”

 

“Seriously, darling, they are,” Lucifer is quick to contradict her.  “Can we go back to the question about what I truly desire please, because if I had seen these first…”

 

“What, your answer would have been different?”

 

“No, not at all, but I would have added: and to take off these truly atrocious panties and throw them in the fireplace so you will never wear them again.”

 

“They were a really good deal—three pairs for $8.99 at Walmart!”

 

“You mean there are more of them?” Lucifer groans and drags his fingers through his hair. “This is terrible, just terrible! Right, well as a man of wealth and taste, I can tell you that panties, three pairs for $8.99, and Walmart are all words that don’t belong in the same sentence let alone in your wardrobe. What are the others like, I’m almost afraid to ask, kitty cats and rainbows?”

 

“Yellow daisies and purple pineapples, if you must know! Trixie picked them out for me; they were a Mother’s Day present.”

 

“Oh, goody, yes, by all means let’s blame the offspring! Well…” Lucifer huffs, “the child is clearly confused, in more ways than one; no doubt she inherits her terrible fashion sense from Dan. First of all, you’re her mother, not her grandmother, and there is no excuse for any attractive woman of any age to wear underwear as unbecoming as these,” he tugs at the waistband again.  “Secondly, pineapples are not purple. I suppose it’s possible there might be some rare hybrid, but that still doesn’t excuse…” He flops back against the pillows. “Clearly I’m going to have to burn your whole underwear drawer! Mmm…that could be quite fun, actually!” He turns to her with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling at the idea as he reaches for the waistband again.

 

But Chloe stops him. “They also cover my stretch marks, and I like that…” she adds softly.

 

“Stretch marks?” Lucifer takes a moment to consider the words, rolling them slowly over his tongue, as if he’s not quite certain what they mean.

 

“From when I had Trixie,” Chloe explains, pulling her panties down just enough to show him the faint, wavy silvery-white lines flanking her navel.

 

Lucifer reaches out to touch them, fascinated, tracing them lightly with his fingertips. “The skin stretches when the stomach swells to accommodate the child, yes? I’ve seen advertisements…”

 

“Those creams don’t work nearly as well as the commercials claim. My mother bought me several different kinds, and cocoa butter lotion, she said I had to look pretty to feel pretty, she even wanted to have her stylist in to do my hair and makeup when I was home on bed-rest, but I was just so sick…it wasn’t a priority. I was horribly sick, the whole nine months, I could hardly hold my head up; it was a very difficult pregnancy. When Trixie was born I almost died...”

 

“They’re like battle scars then,” Lucifer decides, “well then, you should be proud of them,” he slides down lower in the bed and lightly kisses the marks, “and not hide them, especially under such awful panties. By the way…” he moves back up to sit beside her, “if it’s any comfort to you…  Chloe…” he takes her hand and kisses it lovingly, “ _Rosemary’s Baby_ …it’s utter nonsense. The very idea that The Devil, The actual Lord of Hell, mind you, would need a bunch of creepy septuagenarians in a seedy, rundown Manhattan apartment building to go around drugging young women with pills crushed in chocolate mousse so he can copulate with them is completely absurd! That is so not me; I’m a firm believer in consensual sex, you know! And I would never blind a man so his rival could take his acting gig; that is just not how I do things! Really, how can anyone think I would do such a terrible thing? That really hurts! Oh, and I don’t have claws either, even in my Devil form, in case you didn’t notice; I have a manicure every week. But even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t have claws, because I just don’t.”

 

“Lucifer, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Chloe puts a hand on his forehead, anxiously checking for fever. “I’m not sure how we got on this subject, but I promise you, if it upsets you this much, I will throw the DVD away as soon as I get home. I bought it years ago, before I even met you, it was just a quick, bargain bin movie night thing, I never really gave it that much thought, but clearly you have…”

 

“No, no, it’s not that, I don’t really care about the movie! I’m just trying to tell you…” he pauses and Chloe nods encouragingly, then it all comes out in a nervous rush. “Angels, fallen and otherwise, and that includes the Devil too…sterile as cotton swabs; Dad thought it would be better that way. I mean…we can use whatever birth control you like, of course; I want you to always feel safe and protected when you’re with me. Actually, I’m quite accustomed to condoms…Can’t have the best night of your life if you’re worrying about rug-rats or Chlamydia, which I’m immune to by the way, and all other diseases too. But it always made my lovers feel better if I wore them, and they rather enjoyed putting them on me, the red cinnamon flavored ones, always a popular choice…”

 

Chloe’s jaw drops and her eyes open so wide she thinks her eyeballs will too. “Um…Lucifer, that’s a little too much information, babe, about the cinnamon condoms I mean, I really could have done without that. But…thank you, the rest of it, the whole _Rosemary’s Baby_ rant and your weekly manicures and all…um, yeah, good to know! And, about the sterility thing, and your immunity to diseases, yeah, it does make me feel better, a lot better, so, thank you for telling me. And, just so you know, I have an IUD. It’s a very reliable, long-term and low maintenance form of birth control,” she explains in response to his blank stare, “so…we’re good!”

 

“Splendid! So can I throw your panties in the fireplace now? After all, I did win the argument.”

 

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, “and no, you did not win the argument. They may not be the height of fashion, but they’re practical. I like to be comfortable and not spend all day suffering with my underwear and counting the hours until I can go home and take it off. I’m just not a thong or crotchless panties kind of girl.”

 

“One can be comfortable and stylish too,” Lucifer counters, flourishing a hand at his black silk boxers. But her remark has him intrigued. “So, tell me, darling…” his voice is like velvet as he bravely reaches out a hand to caress her thigh, gliding it upwards. His eyes never leave her face as he hooks a mischievous fingertip under the elastic at the top of her thigh, moving it slowly to the side, until it’s barely an inch from her most intimate parts. “Do you sleep with them on or off?”

 

“Okay, time to change the subject…”  Gently but firmly, Chloe removes his hand from her panties.

 

“Have I ever influenced the decision?”

 

The penetrating look he gives her sets Chloe’s face on fire with a flaming blush. She refuses to meet his eyes and squirms uncomfortably against the pillows and begins fussing needlessly with the covers, pulling them up almost to her chin.

 

“We are not having this conversation!” she says, sternly and self-consciously.

 

“That means I have!” Lucifer is clearly delighted, and excited, by her response.  “If the answer was ‘no’ there wouldn’t be anything to have a conversation about! What did you do, what did you think about? Tell, tell!”

 

“Lucifer…”

 

“Well, yes, of course you thought about me, but can you be more specific, please?”

 

“Lucifer, it’s late…”

 

“Better late than never, darling! You know, you really are adorable when you’re flustered. I just love making you blush!”

 

“We should try…”

 

“Oh? By all means…”

 

“No, I mean, you should try to go back to sleep; you really need to rest…”

 

“I’ve been sleeping for hours; sleep is boring!”

 

“Oh, so you want to play now?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Chloe nimbly rolls him onto his back and pins his hands above his head as she straddles him.

 

“Oh! Fancy it rough, do you? You naughty minx! Did you bring your handcuffs?”

 

He playfully thrusts his hips up, making sure she feels his hardness. Her panties are already damp with desire, and by the way he’s looking at her with that saucy grin, and licking his lips, she’s certain he knows it.

 

“Come on, darling, don’t be shy,” he purrs, rubbing against her, “you know you want to!”

 

“Okay…I know just the thing!” Chloe quickly climbs off him. “Meet you in the shower. I’ll just be a moment…”

 

“Oh, shower sex, lovely! Don’t forget the handcuffs!”

 

When she joins him in the bathroom, she’s holding the bottle of baby shampoo.

 

Mystified, Lucifer takes it from her and reads the label. “No more tears? Does it cure sadness as well as clean hair?” he smirks.

 

“Linda bought it for your wings, but after she got all the bullets and glass out she thought it was better to just let you sleep. And now…since you don’t want to sleep, we might as well…”

 

“Wash my wings? I should say not!” Lucifer indignantly thrusts the bottle of baby shampoo back at her and turns away, pouting and folding his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m not a bloody sheep dog, and you can’t bloody well groom me like one! I won’t stand for it!” She can hear the hurt hiding under the hauteur.

 

“Okay,” Chloe sighs and throws up her hands, “well it’s either me or a grooming salon, Lucifer, it’s completely up to you, but it has to be done, and you know it. They’re all matted with blood and that can’t be comfortable for you, and you know you can’t possibly manage it by yourself. This is LA, so I’m sure I can find a groomer who does birds; maybe someone who has cleaned up after oil spills or something. So…if you don’t get in that shower by the time I count three, I’m going to get my phone and start…”

 

“Already in!”

 

Standing in the shower stall, Lucifer petulantly shucks off his shorts and gives her a look, daring her to object, as he tosses them out onto the floor. He cautiously unfolds his wings, as much as the space will allow; it’s an enormous shower, but not big enough to accommodate his wings in full-spread glory.

 

“Ohhh…They are a bloody mess, aren’t they?” he frowns, pulling a handful of blood-caked feathers around to examine them.

 

“Not for much longer,” Chloe promises as she quickly steps in behind him.

 

“What, not going to undress, Detective?” he asks archly.

 

Chloe doesn’t bother to answer; instead she sends her top flying over his shoulder, out the door, onto the floor, landing it right beside his boxers, followed shortly by her pink and white panties.

 

“Uh-uh, keep your back turned, and your eyes straight ahead,” she orders, hiding her body between his wings.

 

“You little tease! Playing fan dancer, are we?” Lucifer asks, tongue in cheek, but obediently stops trying to sneak a peek.

 

“Lucifer, just shut up and turn the water on!” Chloe says and shuts the pebbled glass door. Then, doing her best to ignore the fact that they’re both naked, and what a very real and stimulating distraction that is, she begins briskly scrubbing his wings.

 

He’s clearly not accustomed to having human hands on his wings, and, given how much he dislikes these “cumbersome appendages,” this enforced, but necessary, scrubbing must seem a supreme indignity to him. Every time she finds a feather that is too damaged to remain, he peevishly reminds her that he’s not a Christmas goose and to please stop trying to pluck him like one, even when she assures him that she’s being as gentle and careful as she can. Sometimes the feathers jerk, flap, and flinch under her fingers, and Lucifer snaps at her not to grope them like a sticky-fingered child. Whenever this happens, Chloe stops, wraps her arms around his waist, and rests her cheek against his back, and just stands still, letting the water wash over them like a calming rain. After a few moments, she presses a kiss onto the bare skin between his wings, and asks if it’s okay to continue and waits for his soft “very well, Detective.”

 

Gradually, the hard, crusted black-red blood gives way, and the feathers begin to fade from rusty red to pale pink.

 

“Oh, blast!” Lucifer grumbles, fastidiously examining the long, pink-tinged flight feathers, “I look like a bloody flamingo!”

 

“Umm…it’s more of a cotton candy than a flamingo pink actually,” Chloe teases. “Have patience,” she hugs him from behind, “it just takes time to rinse all the blood out, they’re kind of big, you know.”

 

“Of course, they are,” Lucifer preens, “archangels always have the largest wings.”

 

“And egos too apparently.”

 

“Detective, you did notice!” Lucifer turns, beaming with childlike delight, as his eyes dart meaningfully down to his very obvious arousal.

 

Chloe sighs and maneuvers him back around. “Lucifer, ego is not a euphemism for erection.”

 

“Isn’t it? Are you sure?”

 

Chloe just sighs and rolls her eyes.

 

In their wet, bedraggled state, the wings look like any large white feathers might, but they feel anything but ordinary. It’s nothing like touching a feather duster, a bird’s wing, or some befeathered item from a costume shop. Lucifer’s feathers seem to have a delicate pulse, a subtle, rippling current of light and warmth, an inner glow. To compare it to static electricity would just be wrong, practically an insult, as it would imply something shocking and unpleasant. This feeling is simply…divine, there’s no better word for it, unless it’s heavenly.

 

In spite of his earlier protests, Lucifer doesn’t really seem to mind the grooming once the worst of the scrubbing is over. There are moments when she thinks he’s actually enjoying it. Little clues are there in the way his body moves and trembles, his breath catches, and his muscles tense, sometimes there’s even a subtle thrust of his pelvis. And when she glides her fingers through the long silky fringe of feathers draping his lower back he rolls his hips and tries to press back against her. A couple of times Chloe thinks she hears a low moan deep in his throat, but with the water on it’s hard to tell. And it’s still possible it might be pain instead of pleasure, the sensitive, newly healed skin beneath the feathers still looks tender, livid pink, and raw.

 

When his feathers are pure white again, Chloe impulsively tells him to tip his head back and close his eyes. She washes his dark hair, taking her time, massaging his scalp with gentle fingers, freeing the natural curls from what remains of the daily imposed regimen of styling that keeps them tame. This time the moan of pleasure is unmistakable.

 

“Okay,” she says when she’s finished rinsing him, “everything looks good from behind…”

 

“Why thank you, Detective!”

 

“I was talking about your wings, Lucifer. Turn around now and let me see…”

 

“With pleasure…” the seductive purr comes promptly. “I thought you’d never ask!”

 

All of a sudden, he’s facing her, and they’re pressed together, skin to skin, so close her nipples graze his chest. Chloe gasps and steps back at the sudden, sharp pang of desire she feels. The magnificent erection she’s been trying so hard to ignore is proudly on display like a peacock’s tail, nudging against her in its own courtship ritual. He’s watching her, tongue probing his cheek, curious to see what she’ll do. She takes another step back, putting a little more space between them, and keeps telling herself not to look down.

 

“Okay, you can stop staring now; it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. I’d be scared to ask how many times you’ve seen _Hot Tub High School_.”

 

“612, though I did fast forward sometimes to the best bits, and then rewind and watch those parts again, and then again, sometimes several times.”

 

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t ask.”

 

“But why should that upset you?” He furrows his brows. “I like your breasts. They’re real, something of a rarity these days, I find.”

 

“Yeah, well, thanks, I’m so glad you’re pleased,” Chloe says, though it’s obvious her sarcasm is lost on Lucifer.  “For my sixteenth birthday my mom offered me my choice between a car and a boob job.”

 

“And you chose the car, good girl!” he says proudly.

 

“Candy apple red Mazda Protégé, seemed a better choice than silicon boobs.”

 

“Much better,” his eyes drift down again and his teeth graze his lower lip. He’s clearly struggling to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her. “You know, I quite like you in red, and I don’t just mean when you’re blushing. But I don’t understand; why do you drive such a drab, boring car now? Surely, you didn’t get tired of red? No, you couldn’t! It’s such a bold, sexy, exciting color!”

 

“I just felt something more conservative was better, safer…”

 

“Red cars are more…accident prone? Are is it that they excite too much attention?”

 

“You could say that, yeah, the wrong kind of attention, the kind I never wanted. Ever since I took my top off in that damn movie, guys have been thinking…Never mind, I don’t want to talk about it,” she’s eager to brush aside the cobwebs of an uncomfortable past. “Let’s just get your wings done, okay?”

 

“No, wait…” There’s a thoughtful, troubled frown on his face, and his eyes are full of concern for her. “Chloe…it isn’t better if it isn’t what you really want, if the choice is made because you feel intimidated or unsafe. Even if you’re not giving them what they want, something they clearly don’t deserve and have no right to, they’re still taking something away from you, and that isn’t right. You’re a smart, beautiful, sexy woman, and that’s something to be proud of, something to embrace, you should be able to enjoy your femininity, drive a red car, and even wear red, if you want to, without worrying about crude, handsy morons like that. You mustn’t hide your light because of them!”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Lucifer, I know,” she says softly. “But I’m okay with keeping things simple, I really am, it works with the life I have now, it’s easier, less complicated, and I think that’s a good thing. I don’t need a red car or fuck me pumps with five inch heels to be happy.”

 

“Does that mean you would object if I bought you a red bra and panties?”

 

“I’d be afraid to see what you’d pick out—scraps of red satin the size of postage stamps held together with strings? Damn right, I’d object!” she laughs, knowing him that’s exactly the sort of thing he’d choose.

 

“I might just surprise you,” his eyes travel over every inch of her body, slowly, like he’s taking her measure, “I have impeccable taste,” he licks his lips and flashes her a sly grin.  “Yes…I was right about the red…and the blushing too...I like it…”

 

Chloe forces herself to just focus on his wings. She’s determined to get through this without having to fall on her knees and pray to Lucifer’s father to give her patience.

 

Amusement vying with desire in his dark eyes, Lucifer watches her every move as she examines the underside of his wings, scrubbing a spot here, a spot there, and running her fingers carefully through the layers of wet, silky feathers, making sure all the shampoo has been rinsed out. Whenever she touches the ones nearest his body and her fingers graze his ribs or hips, his breath catches, his torso tenses, and he trembles. And she’s still trying her damnedest not to look down. Thankfully, Lucifer has the good sense to stay silent; he just looks at her, drinking her in with his eyes, like a man who has been wandering parched in the desert suddenly stumbling upon an oasis of pure, sweet water.

 

“Okay, I think that should do it…”

 

Timidly, as though he’s not quite certain if he’s allowed to touch her, Lucifer reaches out and draws a long lock of wet hair over her shoulder.

 

“Shall I?” he asks softly.

 

“Okay,” she nods, a little breathlessly. She hands him the shampoo and turns her back to him. He takes his time, his long, strong fingers weaving deftly through the wet golden-brown strands, massaging her scalp, temples, and the nape of her neck. Only when all the shampoo has been washed out does he dare to press close against her back and lean forward and kiss the curve of her neck. Of course, he finds just the right spot to make her moan and feel like her knees have just magically turned to jelly. That’s it; she just can’t ignore the puddle of liquid desire pooling low in her stomach and hot between her thighs a second longer.

 

Chloe spins around and immediately finds herself wrapped in strong arms and wet angel wings. Gripping beneath her thighs, Lucifer lifts her. Arms and legs wound around him, back pressed against the cool black marble wall, she holds on tight as they devour each other’s mouths. She feels like her heart is beating between her legs. He hasn’t even touched her there, but she’s so wet he could slide right inside, and the head of his cock, nudging gently against her slick, hot center knows it. That’s the moment when the hot water gives out.

 

“Bloody Hell!” The rush of cold water comes as such a shock Lucifer almost drops her.

 

Chloe quickly finds the gargoyle-shaped knob and turns the water off. She’s already out of the shower, wrapped in one of the big, soft black towels and using another one to dry her dripping hair while he’s still standing in the shower shaking his waterlogged wings and complaining about stewardesses, cell phones, and now the bloody plumbing interrupting them every time they’re having a moment.

 

“Come on,” she tosses him a towel, “I’ll blow-dry your wings for you.”

 

“Really?” Lucifer is clearly intrigued by the idea. He’s obviously never thought of it himself.

 

“Yeah, I’m curious to see how your $400 hairdryer compares to my $15 one.”

 

“Detective, I’ll have you know that is the _crème de la crème_ of hairdryers,” Lucifer says as he wraps the plush black towel around his slender hips, “it’s supersonic. It utilizes controlled high-velocity airflow for ultra-fast drying power, and it has a micro-processor with intelligent heat control to help prevent heat damage, and comes with magnetic attachments that allow you to smooth, style, and diffuse with ease…”

 

“Yeah,” Chloe laughs as she plugs it in, “I’ve seen that infomercial too.”

 

“And I got a free travel bag; I just had to pay separate processing and handling.”  

 

It’s positively adorable, the way he sounds so proud of himself, she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the travel bag definitely wasn’t free; this is one deal where the Devil definitely got swindled.

 

“Good for you!” she pats his chest playfully as she positions him in front of the vanity.

 

It quickly becomes apparent that Lucifer is enjoying the effect his expensive hairdryer has upon his wings a little too much. He moans softly, rolls his shoulders and hips, arches his back and neck, and thrusts his pelvis. Beneath her guiding fingers and the gentle rush of hot air his feathers quiver and twitch. The small, soft, downy feathers nearest his skin seem especially sensitive judging by Lucifer’s ecstatic reaction. The whole thing soon has Chloe feeling like she’s witnessing the famous diner scene from _When Harry Met Sally_ , only Lucifer clearly isn’t faking it.

 

“Oh…I’ve got to tell Amenadiel about this,” he sighs. “It’s fantastic! Like a sex toy made just for angel wings!”

 

When Lucifer, creature of unabashed sexuality that he is, starts to unwrap the towel, the intentions of his right hand unmistakably obvious, Chloe quickly hits the power button.

 

“Oh, no, don’t stop!” he whimpers and whines. “Lucifer likes!”

 

“I…uh…I think this is one of those times when less really is more. Your wings have been through a lot today, and I…I really don’t think you should risk heat damage on top of everything else, I mean…they seem really sensitive, and this…” she sets the hair dryer down guiltily, blushing and suddenly feeling like she’s just been caught red-handed holding a vibrator, “…this feels really hot.”

 

“It does indeed!” he smiles and sighs in obvious bliss, arching his back again, rolling his shoulders and hips, and fluffing his feathers. ‘Mmmm….Deliciously and decadently hot!”

 

“Yeah…So…why don’t you go sit down on the foot of the bed, where you have room to stretch your wings out, and just…cool down, and I’ll come finish you with my hands…”

 

“Detective! Mmm…Aren’t you full of naughty surprises tonight?”

 

“I meant your feathers, Lucifer, I’ll smooth them down with my fingers, the hairdryer did a good job drying them, but they’re still a little…fluffy.”

 

Laughing softly, sensually, Lucifer heads for the door, weaving a little on wobbly legs. “I feel fluffy!” he sighs, clearly intoxicated by this delightful new experience.

 

“Great!” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Just great!”

 

“Such a tease!” Lucifer chuckles, languidly and sultrily, leaning in the doorway, giddily fluttering his wings. “You blow hot and cold. I like it.” And with a last flirty little flick of his feathers, he tosses his towel on the bathroom floor and retreats stark naked to the bedroom.

 

After he’s gone, Chloe lingers in the bathroom, giving them both time to calm down. She drinks a glass of water, splashes some cold water on her face, uses one of the towels to mop up the water they’ve dripped on the floor, and makes sure the one wrapped around her is secure. When she finally emerges from the bathroom, Lucifer, apparently fully recovered from his erotic encounter with the hairdryer, is waiting to help her slip into his red satin robe. He looks strangely adorable, boyish and innocent, with his curly hair and fluffed-up feathers. She’s relieved to see he’s put on a fresh pair of black silk shorts, and his favorite crimson and black jacquard robe is sprawled carelessly across one corner of the bed.

 

Once her arms are through the sleeves, Chloe pulls the robe close around her and lets the towel fall. The sleeves are too long and she pushes them up out of the way so she can tie the sash snugly around her waist. Lucifer waits patiently, standing behind her, then he gently turns her around and rolls the sleeves up, neatly folding them into cuffs. He notices the fresh bruise peeping out of the robe and reaches out to touch it. She tries not to wince at the burst of pulsing pain that comes from just the tentative touch of his fingertip. She’s going to have to get it checked out, have an x-ray, and make sure there’s no serious damage, or cracked bones, lurking beneath the skin.

 

“It’ll be alright in a few days…” she says reassuringly at his worried frown.

 

Lucifer’s fingers pluck out a small, fuzzy white feather. It looks just like a perfect miniature cloud, virgin down, whiter even than the purest snow. Gently, he eases the satin aside and lays the tiny plume against the dark, ugly purplish-red blossom of the bruise. There’s a gentle warm, pulsing, tingling feeling, followed by a small, swift burst of golden light as both feather and bruise disappear.

 

“What did you do?” Chloe stares in amazement. It’s as though the bullet never even struck. Even when she presses down, there’s not the slightest twinge of pain, and not even the shadow of a bruise mars her skin.

 

“I made it better.” There’s something soft and childlike about Lucifer’s voice as he answers.

 

“Thank you,” it’s the only thing Chloe can think of to say.  She kisses him gently then takes his hand and leads him to sit on the foot of the bed.

 

“Oh, it was nothing,” he replies, seeming almost embarrassed.

 

She kneels behind him and he stretches his wings out all the way. It must feel good after holding them in, semi-folded, during that long shower and for the blow-drying afterwards. They truly are a magnificent sight in full span, wider even than the king-sized bed, glowing with a soft, pearlescent light. She’d thought the fake wings at the relics auction were gorgeous, but the real ones put them to shame. They’re luminous, exquisite, breathtaking, divine!

 

Slowly, gently Chloe begins gliding and skimming her fingers through the silky-soft, gleaming white layers, taming each feather into smooth, sleek submission. They feel like liquid silk. Beneath her touch, they seem to have a life of their own, they flick and fluff, tremble and twitch, the newborn downy feathers, as soft as little clouds, seem to caress her right back, and the stiff shafts of the largest feathers shudder against her fingertips and make her blush because she can’t help thinking about Lucifer’s erection when she touches them. Whenever her fingertips brush against his body, Lucifer’s breath catches, he arches his back, his whole body quivers, and he leans back trustingly into her touch, wanting more. She doubts he’s ever been pampered quite like this.

 

“See, being groomed isn’t so bad, is it? You’re purring like a great big Persian cat!”

 

“I am not!” Lucifer glowers. “And I’ll thank you to stop comparing me to animals, first birds, and then a sheep dog, and now a bloody cat! It’s really quite insulting! But I have to admit, you are rather good at it. So good, that you may groom me again whenever you like,” he adds regally, graciously, like a king bestowing a favor. “It never felt like this before, not even in Heaven, when I had my wings groomed whenever I wished. Wings are so high maintenance, and there’s only so much one can do without assistance, so my siblings…It’s what angels do. I don’t mean…it isn’t anything like sex, it’s just...” he gropes uncertainly for the right word.

 

“Caring? Affection?” Chloe suggests.

 

“I suppose so,” Lucifer nods thoughtfully. “It was so long ago...Eons…And after I fell…in Hell…well, couldn’t keep the bloody ashes out for one thing, so my wings always burned and itched, I’d rub them raw against the stone walls and chains trying to get some relief. Maze did her best, but…Imagine trying to get gum out of your hair with a fork and you get the general idea.”

 

It sounds horrible, how he must have suffered! How could they leave him there like that with no one to take care of him properly? But she can’t dwell on it now or she’ll cry.

 

“Poor baby!” Chloe kisses his shoulder and gives his ribs a gentle tickle beneath the long fringy feathers, “so it’s been a long time since the wings have had any love, huh?”

 

“A long time…that’s something of an understatement, but yes.”

 

She blows gently on the short feathers cresting the top, nearest his shoulders. Lucifer moans and arches his neck and leans back against her, craving more contact.

 

“Blowing hot again, Detective? You know, this really is quite pleasant! One might even say it’s almost orgasmic!” he adds with a cheeky grin. “New experience for me, actually; my wings have never had that kind of love. Fancy that, I’m older than the sun, and part of me is still a virgin! We’ll have to do something about that! They seem oddly responsive to you, just like my…”

 

“Let’s just stick with pleasant, at least for now…” Chloe hastily interjects.

 

“Ah, and now cold again! Tease!”

 

“So, what’s with the mermaid?” Chloe asks, pointing to the painting. “It doesn’t really seem to fit with the rest of the décor.”

 

“Uh, I know! Dreadful, isn’t it? But I’m a Devil of my word, and a promise is a promise. It’s an eyesore, one of the worst crimes against good taste I’ve ever seen, but what it means is…” his voice softens, “so much more. Come to think of it, right now that monstrosity is the second most precious thing in this building.”

 

Chloe’s jaw drops and she just stares at the painting and then at Lucifer. “You’ve got to be kidding! That thing? Really?”

 

“Every word the truth, I swear.”

 

“Modern art,” Chloe shrugs, “go figure! I certainly never would have guessed it. I’m almost afraid to ask, what kind of deal did you make with the…is artist even the right word?”

 

“I can think of many things to call Dave Maddox but artist isn’t one of them. It was more of a miracle than a deal actually; not really my jam, but time was of the essence. He wanted his paintings to be treated like treasure instead of trash, so I obliged.”

 

“That’s a pretty tall order, especially if they’re all like that.”

 

“That was the most tolerable one, I assure you.”

 

“That’s…scary. So what did you get in return?”

 

“The list of ingredients he collected for Professor Carlisle, to make the antidote to save your life.”

 

“So you not only died and went to Hell for me—Linda told me—but you also hung a mermaid clown on your bedroom wall? Lucifer...”

 

“Chloe,” he turns to look at her, brimming with sincerity, “I would have covered every inch of wall space I own with Dave Maddox’s monstrosities to save you.”

 

Chloe climbs onto his lap and kisses him passionately.

 

“Ohhh…hot again!”

 

She weaves her fingers through his dark, unruly hair as his mischievous lips journey once again to that oh so sensitive spot on the side of her neck.

 

“Lucifer, remember what I said about less being more…”

 

“The hairdryer and my wings…yes…” he murmurs as he blazes a trail of hot kisses down her neck and, pushing the robe aside, along the curve of her naked shoulder.

 

“Let’s also apply that to mermaid clowns, okay?”

 

“Oh yes, by all means!” he readily agrees as his lips begin inching down to her breasts.

 

“Good, because I’m warning you now,” Chloe pulls back and regards him seriously, “if you ever make another deal with Dave Maddox that involves you bringing any more of his so-called artwork home, I will shoot you; I don’t care if you are…”

 

“The Devil, yes, got it!”

 

Chloe gently wiggles out of his embrace, but not without another kiss first, and moves to kneel behind him again.

 

“And we’re back to cold…” Lucifer sulks.

 

“So why did you run away to Vegas and marry Candy?” Chloe finally asks the question that’s been burning inside of her, festering like an ulcer, for so many months.

 

“Because I wanted you to be free to choose.”

 

“But I did choose, I chose you…”

 

“No, I mean yes, you did, but no, you didn’t really because you didn’t have a choice, you don’t understand…” Lucifer’s wings start twitching, like each feather is infected with a nervous tic. His breath becomes shaky and ragged, like another panic attack is lurking just over the horizon, and he digs his fingers into his scalp as if the thoughts, the anger, filling his head are so unbearable that he just wants to rip them out. He pulls away from her and stands up.

 

“No, Lucifer,” Chloe reaches out and pulls him back down. “Lucifer, come back, whatever it is, it’s okay. Calm down, and stop telling me I don’t understand, and just sit down and explain it to me so I can understand. This is how we do things now; we don’t run away from problems, we deal with them. Okay?”

 

“It was Dad’s damnable interference again! You’re a miracle, a bloody miracle!” he exclaims.

 

“Yeah, so my mom has been telling me my whole life. Didn’t you know that? I swear, she tells that story to anybody who’ll listen, I was sure she had told you too. The doctors said she could never have kids, but…”

 

“Yes, yes, exactly!” Lucifer nods vigorously. “He put you in my path, the manipulative bastard sent Amenadiel down from Heaven to bless your mother’s womb, so she would conceive, He made you just for me, so you would…so I would…fall in love.”

 

“And you think this is a bad thing?” Chloe asks slowly, carefully.

 

“He manipulated you, Chloe, just like He did me, took away your right to choose…”

 

“Or maybe He wanted to give you a gift, maybe He wanted to give me a gift? God is obviously…unfathomable! Parents aren’t perfect, Lucifer, and from what you’ve told me about your dad…that obviously applies to The Supreme Being too. But in the end, I think most parents have one thing in common, they all want what’s best for their children. Or maybe God just gets a kick out of doing the whole Jane Austen matchmaking thing; who the hell knows? But if you think He took away my right to choose, you’re dead wrong!”

 

She gets up off the bed and starts pacing angrily back and forth before him. She’s angry, really angry, that this is what has been standing between them all this time. This is the reason he dropped her like a hot potato. Lucifer, good intentions notwithstanding, has blown the whole silly thing completely out of proportion and she’s mad enough to wring his neck for it.

 

“I haven’t spent my whole life sitting around just waiting for you, you know? Who do you think I am—Cinderella or Snow White waiting for Prince Charming to show?”

 

“Umm…darling…” Lucifer interrupts, “don’t you mean Beauty and the Beast; well, sort of, in reverse…”

 

Chloe just glares at him.

 

“Sorry, minor point, completely unimportant, please, continue...”

 

“I’ve made plenty of choices, some of them pretty bad! I chose to do the whole acting thing, so now anyone with a DVD player or a streaming service can see my boobs, and I have to live with that! All the wisecracks and guys with grabby hands! Then I chose to walk away. I was sick of all the Hollywood sleazeballs who think every actress is theirs for the taking, that all they have to do is point or snap their fingers and she’ll lie down and open her legs. I chose to finally do what I really wanted to do; I chose to become a cop. And I chose to marry Dan, he was like a breath of fresh air compared to the other men I’d known, I thought it would be different. I just wanted to feel cherished and safe, and I thought he could give me that. And I chose to have a baby; just one, not a whole houseful in spite of all the arguments, I refused to give in. And then I chose to get a divorce when I knew it wasn’t good anymore for any of us, and even if we worked at it, it wasn’t going to get any better because we just couldn’t give each other what we wanted or needed. And even when I chose to try to repress my desires, and tried to stop myself from falling for you, because you’re like a perpetual five-year-old kid running wild in a candy store, only for you it’s sex, drugs, and booze, my heart still chose to love you, and then you,” she jabs a furious finger at his chest, “chose to reject me, hurt me, and run away to Vegas, and marry that blonde bimbo! You made me feel like you wanted me for a millisecond maybe and then you changed your mind so fast it made my head spin! That whole Candy fiasco was like a big slap in the face to me! So I chose to try to move on, I chose Pierce, because of what he represented—the safe, sane, responsible, adult choice—and it felt damn good to feel wanted again. But then I chose to face the truth, that I could never marry him, because I love you, Lucifer Morningstar, and you make my heart glad even when I feel like shooting you! And I chose today to keep on loving you when I found out you really are The Devil, and an archangel too apparently, not that I even considered stopping, that never even occurred to me. So don’t you dare sit there, Mister, and tell me your Dad took away my right to choose!”

 

By now she’s standing in front of him, hair wild, chest heaving, flushed and panting, the over-large red satin robe drooping from one shoulder, almost baring a breast.

 

Lucifer just sits there, staring at her, gnawing his lower lip, finally he asks quietly, “Why do things sometimes make more sense when you say them than when I think them?”

 

“I don’t know,” Chloe sighs, readjusts the robe, and smoothes back her hair, “maybe because you let your feelings about your father get in the way, like not being able to see the forest for the trees? It’s something to think about, maybe?” She takes a deep breath, ruffles his hair, and climbs back onto the bed behind him and begins running her fingers through his wings again. She has to admit, it’s strangely relaxing, better than a stress ball or one of those fidget spinners everybody’s so crazy about.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, “I never meant to hurt you, and it wasn’t just a millisecond, I never stopped wanting you, I couldn’t stay away, that’s why I came back, I couldn’t bear to be apart from you, it was like some vital piece of me was missing, I just…I was so angry, at my Father, for what he’d done, to both of us…Forgive me, please?”

 

“I already have,” she sighs and leans her forehead against his back. “I think I got all the anger out, or maybe I’m just too tired to stay mad tonight.”

 

“So you really did choose me?” Lucifer asks, as though he still can’t quite believe it.

 

“Yeah, I really did. Just remember that and don’t give me cause to doubt my judgment or my sanity.” She kisses the nape of his neck. “So, why didn’t you ever show me your wings? You could have even when you couldn’t show me your Devil Face, right?”

 

“Because these,” Lucifer gives his wings an angry shake, “are not me, not the real me, not for a very long time! They’re an unwelcome and unwanted reminder of what I once was, before I fell, and a bloody nuisance to boot, always knocking over things and popping out at the most inconvenient times! I chose to cut them off, to reject them, and Him, and everything they stand for, but then He made them grow back, every bloody time…mocking me, robbing me of my right to choose, taking away my control! I define who I am, not Him!”

 

He sounds so angry, so bitter, so hurt, Chloe slips her arms under his wings and just hugs him, giving whatever comfort she can. She waits, silently, patiently, for him to settle back into her embrace. She knows there’s more to say, and waits until he’s calm enough to say it.

 

“In a way,” Lucifer continues thoughtfully, “showing you the wings would have been easier, but it would also have been much harder. They’re gorgeous, glowing white radiant evidence of the divine. When humans see angel wings they tend to fall on their knees and gaze up at them in adoration, they worship and weep; proof of divinity can be a very powerful thing, it’s been known to change lives, for better or worse. But my Devil Face, it’s quite the opposite, it makes most humans scream or piss themselves in terror, some of them try to run away, while others are paralyzed with fright, they beg and plead for me not to hurt them, not to punish them. I never really wanted you to see that side of me, Chloe, but I needed…I wanted you to know, and, if you possibly could, love, all of me. If I had shown you the wings alone, the angel and not the Devil, the picture would have been incomplete, and that would be dishonest. It would be a half truth that I could never live with. I would feel like I had won your love with a lie, so it would never really be real. And I promised you I would never lie to you, and I never have, and I never will.”

 

Chloe gets up from the bed and walks around to stand before him. Gently, she nudges his knees further apart so she can stand between them, and puts her arms around him.

 

“Maybe it’s an overly simple way of looking at it, Lucifer, but can’t you be both angel and Devil? I mean, you kind of already are to me. You’ve protected me and saved me so many times, like a guardian angel, standing between me and harm. And I accept now, because I’ve seen, that you really are the Devil, but…” she strokes his face, “I still say, not to me. As for the wings, I’m sorry you hate them so much, but I can’t. They’re a part of you, even when you cut them off and all that’s left is scars, it doesn’t matter how many times you do it, but I hope you never will again. You wanted me to accept, and love, and want all of you, and I do, so that includes the wings. If you hadn’t had them today…I would be dead, we both know nothing else could have saved me, and my little girl would be without a mother tonight. So I have to love the wings along with all the rest of you. And if your father ever chooses to take them away, or you lose your Devil Face again…just remember, I loved you before I knew you had wings, and I loved you before I believed you were the Devil too.”

 

As the enormity of her words sinks in, the pure, simple truth that only his wings, his detested wings, had saved his Chloe from certain death, the dam bursts, and tears pour down Lucifer’s face. His arms tighten around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he can, and his wings enfold her, protectively, possessively, as he buries his face against her breast and clings to her in tear-racked desperation.

 

Chloe gives her Lucifer exactly what he needs, she loves and holds him.

 

When the hot tears have dried against her breast, and the racking sobs subsided, she lifts his head and kisses his brow, each tear-damp eye, and his lips. She takes his hands and leads him gently to lie down properly on the bed, waiting patiently while he tucks his wings away, so the glowing sphere-shaped lamps that grace the twin nightstands won’t be demolished by their span.

 

She climbs over him, to lie beside him, and pulls him into her arms, so his dark head is cradled on her shoulder.

 

Lucifer snuggles contentedly in her arms. He breathes deeply, clearing away the last traces of tears, grateful beyond words that she hasn’t said anything about them; it’s an awkward feeling for him, he isn’t accustomed to anyone seeing him cry.

 

“You know, Detective, this TLC thing is definitely worth getting shot for, next time I won’t mind half so much if…”

 

“Lucifer…” Chloe’s laughter cuts him off, “this isn’t just for injuries! Or sickness either! And let’s hope neither of us ever gets shot again! It’s for whenever it’s wanted or needed.”

 

“Every night?” he asks hopefully.

 

“Every night,” she affirms, pulling him closer and kissing him.

 

And why not? She makes time every night Trixie is with her to snuggle with her daughter; it’s something she looks forward to all day, like a little peaceful oasis amidst all the chaos of work and life. Lucifer clearly needs, and wants, the love and affection, and so does Chloe. And, yes, there’s definitely room in her life, and in her heart, for this cheeky Devil. She’d be happy to hold him in her arms every night.

 

“Then you must have some too,” Lucifer declares, nimbly shifting his position so that now she’s the one lying with her head on his shoulder, being cuddled and kissed by him. “Every night…”

 

He doesn’t know it, but he’s just given her something else to look forward to, another oasis at the heart of her hectic, busy life.

 

***

 

Later, in the dark, Chloe rolls over, restlessly, and murmurs, “it’s too hot in this five star hellhole,” as she shrugs out of the red satin robe and flings it on the floor, before burrowing back into Lucifer’s arms again. Curiously, she doesn’t seem to mind the warmth of his skin or the heat of his passion.

 

“You little rascal!” Lucifer laughs, grinning in the darkness, delighted at the touch of her soft, smooth skin sliding sensuously against his, the hungry kisses, and the newfound boldness of her hands.

 

Soon his black boxers join the red robe on the floor.

 

“Trust me?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” her answer comes instantly, breathlessly.

 

“Look in my eyes…”

 

“I can’t, the lights are off.”

 

His irises are glowing rings of red flames that suddenly go ice blue and still before the familiar darkness comes again.

 

“You said you wouldn’t sleep with me until Hell freezes over,” Lucifer reminds her. “It just did. I told you I could arrange it.”

 

For a long moment, Chloe is stunned speechless. Finally she asks, “You do know that’s just an expression, right?”

 

“Well, I do now.” It’s impossible to tell if he’s serious or teasing, but it doesn’t really matter.

 

“What am I going to do with you?” she sighs.

 

“I can think of a few things…”

 

“Yeah, so can I.”

 

***

 

It wasn’t how he had always imagined it would be—a wild, all-night marathon of sexual delights, with him wowing her, making her writhe and scream, with his skill and stamina. It was slow and soft, comforting and tender, just two people who needed to be together finally being together. When Chloe reached down and gently guided him inside her, Lucifer experienced a moment of indescribable awe and wonder, and the first word that came into his mind was “home.” And in their moment of shared release when his wings unfurled and surrounded her, making her feel warm, safe, and wanted, and most of all loved, the same way he felt when her arms held him, he wasn’t the least bit vexed; it was part of the moment, not an intrusion. It was the best night of his immortal life (so far).

 

 


End file.
